You Can't Save Them All
by MirandOnABox
Summary: SLASH. McCoy is in a ruddy state after having a friend die on the operating table. Kirk confronts him about it. RATED "T" FOR LANGUAGE AND FIST FIGHTS! Bones/Kirk


**Authors note:** Okay, hello. This isn't a SongFic, and I'm not going to say that it was inspired by a certain song either, but this was written to **Hello My Name is Your T.V.** by the band **LUDO**. Though one doesn't need to know the song to read this Fic, it's still recommended that you listen to the song, either before or after reading this. Or put it on repeat while you read . Enjoy.

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It seems that there isn't a day that goes by on the Enterprise where someone doesn't die. It's commonplace. Unfortunate, but commonplace. The ship is out on a five year mission, you grow immune to death, you learn not to get too attached to people, it's just what happens.

But that doesn't mean that every once in a while you meet someone that's really great, someone who is grade-a friend material.

And then you are faced with the hard truth that just because someone is great, that they are safe from the Grim Reaper's Scythe.

McCoy walks slowly out of the sick bay, his shirt copiously stained with blood. This isn't his first death on the operating table, far from it, but this was his first friend. He pulls down his surgical mask, and lets it hand from his neck.

The lights above his head hum, and doors along the hall open and shut with the familiar sound of compression that they've always made. But everything feels so _wrong_.

It just isn't fair to McCoy that when the death of one person can be so devastating on another, that the rest of the world can carry on like nothing has happened. The world has just a great man, and everything continues like everything is fine.

The idea infuriates McCoy, and he takes his best shot at destroying the nearest wall, leaving a terrible red splotch where his fist had hit the metal.

In a haste he rips of his gloves, and snaps the rubber strings holding the mask around his neck. McCoy slumps against the opposite wall, miserable.

Through the silence pushes the sound of rubber soles hitting metal, and coming down the hall. As they approach, McCoy closes his eyes, hoping that whoever it is will just keep on their way. But the footsteps get closer and closer, until they stop completely and McCoy feels a familiar, arrogant presence.

"A-hem." Kirk clears his throat, very matter-of-factly.

Without opening his eyes, McCoy frowns and answers "What." Though it's not a question at all.

"Just what the fuck do you think you're doing?" Kirk asks, pissed off.

"Nothing."

"Wrong answer! I'll tell you what you're doing! You're fucking up my ship with your fucking little tantrum!"

McCoy's eyes snap open, and suddenly he's yelling. "_My_ tantrum! Fuck you Jim, you don't know shit for a captain! Okay! That guy, you didn't know him, you didn't know what he was like, or what he had plans for! To you he's just another dead crewman!"

"Don't fucking tell me what I do or don't know!" Kirk answers in a yell that is equally loud.

"But you don't! He had plans! He had a family! Now what? Now he's dead and you and the rest of the crew couldn't give a shit!"

They're lucky that the hall is empty, considering how loud they are both being.

"That's it! I'm not gonna' do this with you any more, you're compromised, Bones, take the rest of th-"

But whether Kirk was telling McCoy to take of the rest of the day, or the rest of the week (it was a Thursday) McCoy never found out, because his fist connected with the side of the captain's face before Kirk could finish.

Kirk stumbled back, a hand over his face. They were silent for a moment or so while Kirk straightened himself out, and came back at McCoy, putting all of his weight behind his fist.

McCoy, being more agile then anyone ever gave him credit for, dodged Kirk's attack, and landed another one of his own, straight into the captains nose.

He felt a snap underneath his knuckles, and the captain and the chief medical officer wee both treated to a loud snap-like nose, followed by a cry of agony from James Tiberius Kirk.

The captain hit his back against the wall, inches from the dented blood spot McCoy had made earlier, clutching his broken nose.

"Shit, Jim . . . I'm . . . I'm . . ." McCoy searches for the right way to apologize, moving in closer to Jim so he could evaluate the damage. He had been angry with the captain, but Kirk was still his friend, and he didn't mean to really hurt him.

"Sorry, I get it. It's just ah- it hurts." Kirk says, slowly removing his hand, and revealing a _very _crooked, and _very_ broken nose. It was bleeding, along with his lip, that McCoy had busted with his first punch. "How is it?" the captain asks.

"Uhh . . . bad. I'm going to have to reset it, before it sticks." McCoy tells him, feeling worse by the moment.

"Shit. That's gonna' hurt." Kirk says, biting his busted lip, and looking skyward, in makeshift prayer. "Alright, ah, do it quick, like ripping off a band-aid."

"Oh, trust me, this is going to hurt a lot more then a band-aid." McCoy assures him, as he places four fingers on both sides of Jim's nose, and looking through the space between his thumbs like a target. With a quick jerk to the right, and another terrible snap-like noise, Kirk's nose is back where it should be.

"Ow-ow-ow-ow-ow." Kirk complains, running his fingers over the bridge of his nose, feeling McCoy's handy work, a pained expression on his face.

"I'm sorry." McCoy finally states completely, casting his gaze on the floor where his mask and gloves lay, covered in blood.

"Yeah, well so am I." Kirk says, pressing at a knot in his back. "You're right, I didn't know that guy, you did, I shouldn't have played down how that must have felt for you."

McCoy didn't say anything. He kept his gaze locked on floor, trying to make sense of the day.

"So am I still suspended?" he finally asked the captain.

"No, but take the rest of the day off anyway. Chapel can take care of Chekov's scrapped knees and all the hypochondriacs that come in for no reason after we've been down to an alien planet." Kirk smiled.

Some people that are arrogant are real assholes, all the time. They think that they can do no wrong, and insist on telling as many people as they can. Those are the kind of people that you fight with

But some people that are arrogant are truly beautiful people, on the inside and on the outside. It's that rare breed of people that you find yourself annoyed with one second, and madly in love with the next. It's those kinds of people that you drag off into a dimly lit hallway, away from everyone else, and kiss.

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**Authors note: **So that's it. I know that the slashyness doesn't really present itself until the last paragraph, but that's okay really, because this Fic wasn't supposed to be about "_hawt buttsecks_" it was just supposed to be about this one instance where they got mad at each other, and ended up kissing. I will be writing more of this paring, so stay tuned. **Reviews are encouraged!**


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